


What I've Done

by Saoirse_Laochra



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: Child Abandonment, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Language, Medical Conditions, Nightmares, Origin Story, Pre-Story, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7427842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hansel never thinks back on what he did to keep his sister alive. He definitely doesn't have nightmares about it."</p><p>A pre-movie story about how Hansel and Gretel ended up the way they did, and a murder mystery that they've been hired to solve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since they were kids, Hansel had been far less trusting than his younger sister. Gretel just didn't understand.

She'd _never_ understood. And she probably never would.

It was a dangerous world the siblings lived in. And not just because of the fucking witches, or trolls, or werewolves, or whatever other evil shit they were fighting on whatever shitty day, in whatever shitty town they happened to find themselves in.

It was the _people_. Gretel just couldn't wrap her brain around the fact that people could be just as evil as the things they hunted.

And people didn't have tells like the monsters did.

But Gretel… She just couldn't _see_ it. No matter how often Hansel told her –no matter how much he _begged_ –she refused to believe it.

A part of him loved her for that.

And a part of him hated her for it.

* * *

 

After killing the witch, only Hansel had realized the dire straits their parents had left them in. Two years older than his sister (a whole ten years old), only he had realized just how fucked they really were; how very few options they had. They were two orphaned children, alone in the world, with no skills, no money, and absolutely no future. Two more faces in the herd.

The orphanage they'd tried the first two months after the witch incident had been a complete and total disaster. Hansel had barely slept, taking short five or ten minute naps at odd intervals throughout the day, and only when he could be absolutely sure that Gretel was safe.

From the first day, he'd heard the older boys talking about her. How clean, and sweet, and _innocent_ looking she was compared to all the other girls, who had lived in the orphanage their whole lives.

He'd heard them talking about what they wanted to do to her. What they were _going_ to do to her if they got the chance.

So he never slept. He glued himself to Gertel’s side, and God help the person who tried to separate them. No matter how many of the older boys kicked his ass, no matter how many times he was caned by the Matrons, he never told Gretel’s side. And he never told her why. And sweet, _innocent_ Gretel had never _understood_.

But when the Head Mother had thrown eleven-year old Hansel out onto the streets after three months, Gretel had followed. Even though she didn't understand why her brother kept getting into trouble,, why he couldn’t ‘ _just get along’_ , she'd still blindly followed wherever he'd taken her, without hesitation.

Hansel knew what their options were. Knew how bleak, and fucking hopeless they were. Whoring themselves out on the streets of Augsburg, fighting the other street kids for enough scraps to survive another day, or stealing whatever they could, and praying to a God Hansel no longer believed in that they wouldn't be caught, and whipped, maybe branded –or worse, lose a hand.

But after a few days of starving, absolutely no sleep, and nearly freezing to death in the cold, Germanic winters, he'd realized that he didn't have a choice. It was his responsibility to keep her safe.

So when he found himself on his knees in a dirty alley, or bent over a table in some filthy backroom, he'd close his eyes, and tell himself that it was okay, because Gretel had enough to eat. When he was whipped by town officials, or beaten bloody by an angry merchant for stealing, he’d force a tight smile, knowing it was okay, because Gretel was safe.

Because that was his _job_. His _only_ reason for living was to keep his sister safe. To keep her from knowing the shame, and humiliation that he felt every day. To keep her from the hunger, and pain that ate at him constantly.

To keep her from the absolutely brutal reality that he lived every single d ay.

And he'd succeeded for a while. For almost a year, before his sickness had finally caught up with him. He'd been feeling ill for months. His stomach would churn almost constantly, black dots dancing in front of his eyes as he tried to focus. His hands and feet would tingle, like pins and needles dancing along his skin at random times. And no matter how much he ate, or drank, it was never enough, the hunger and thirst nearly driving him to insanity. The cuts and bruises that littered his small, emaciated body never seemed to heal, lasting weeks before they would slowly start to heal.

It all culminated one cold, winter's morning. The morning when he desperately tried to force himself to his feet, despite the pit in his stomach, despite the way the room had started spinning the moment he opened his eyes, despite the serious sense of _wrong_ that was emanating from every single part of his body.

And despite Gretel's scared face, begging and pleading for her older brother to get up… He just couldn't do it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move from the small mat that served as his bed. He couldn't make his lips from the words he so desperately needed to say, to reassure Gretel that he'd be okay.

So Gretel had taken the small bit of money they had set aside for hard times (although it was hardly more than a few shillings), and managed to find an apothecary who was willing to visit the small, one-room shanty they called home.

Sugar sickness. After sticking Hansel with a needle the size of Excalibur, the elderly, hunched over, wizened little man had told them the illness had probably been building for months. Maybe longer. It was the result of too much candies and sweets, and not enough real food to counteract the sugar. Not enough healthy fruits and vegetables to keep him healthy.

The month following the man's diagnosis was the hardest month of Hansel's life. Not because of the illness itself; that, after regular injections of the man's potions, had gradually gotten better.

It was hard, because during that month, he'd been confined to his bed, weak as a new-born babe, while his ten year old sister had slaved away for a seamstress in town, working twelve or fourteen hour days. She'd leave before the sun rose, coming back long after the sun had set, bringing back barely enough to afford his medication, and enough food to make sure Hansel got better.

And he hadn't been able to do a damn thing about it, for a whole fucking _month_. A month of her treating him like an infant, working her fingers to the bone, barely eating, gone all day, just so she could take care of him.

So after a month, he'd put an end to it. As soon as he was able to stand on his own, he'd told Gretel she was done working. The very next day, he'd gone back to the streets of Augsburg, back to his old means of supporting his sister.

And that was their life, until Hansel turned thirteen. When he'd started to fill out, gaining almost a foot in height, and nearly fifty pounds of muscle, most of his previous… _clients_ … had no use for him anymore. And after a bad experience that scared him shitless, he'd found work with a band of mercenaries, agreeing to do whatever odd jobs that needed doing in return for feeding and training him as they travled.

Of course, they hadn't expected him to bring his eleven year old sister along with him. But they'd taken a liking to the siblings’ spunk, and they'd trained her too.

From there, it'd been a short step to witch-hunting. A surprisingly short step, when Hansel thought back on it.

Which he never, ever did, he thought roughly, rolling over on the uncomfortable floor, and sliding one hand under his head. After twenty years of killing monsters, he'd trained himself to not think about those first few years after their parents had abandoned them.

And he sure as _fuck_ didn't have nightmares about the shit.

"Hansel?"

He groaned when he heard his sister's voice above him. "Go to sleep, Gretel."

"What's bothering you?" She asked, her voice soft, as she peered over the edge of the bed, her eyes showing her concern.

"Nothing. _Indigestion_. Now go to sleep."

"But _you're_ not sleeping."

"Because I'm the older brother," He said roughly, rolling over onto his side as he slid further back against the wall.

"Do you need something to eat?"

"Go to sleep, Gretel."


	2. Chapter 2

Hansel groaned as he rolled over onto his back, the sun shining directly into his face. Yet another night of uneasy, restless sleep had left him more tired than he had been when he'd laid down to sleep.

"Good morning, brother."

He groaned again at Gretel's cheerful voice from across the room. "What time is it?" He muttered, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Almost ten. Sleep well?"

He could hear the grin in her words, knew that she knew full well he hadn't. So he didn't answer as he pushed himself to a sitting position, trying to rub the kink out of his neck.

"So what's the plan for today?" He asked gruffly, searching around the floor for his injector. He should probably take more care with the damned thing – _it was, after all, what kept him alive_ –but it was a passing thought as he jammed the needle carelessly into his leg, depressing the plunger quickly.

"Well, while _you_ were getting your beauty sleep, I was thinking about something," Gretel said, her voice becoming almost absent, and he knew without looking that she was reading her notes. "Two kids disappeared, right? A boy, and a girl, thirteen and fourteen."

"If you say so," He grunted, pulling himself to his feet, and plopping down at the table. He ignored her eye roll as he reached for one of the rolls that sat on the table – long since gone cold – and began to eat.

He never really paid attention to  _why_  they were called to a town. Research was Gretel's thing, always had been, since he could barely read, and had no desire to learn. When he'd first told her that, she'd sarcastically asked what his 'thing' was.

_Hansel forced a grin to his face as he looked down at his little sister._

_“My thing, dear sister… is killing.”_

"I was thinking… that's a little old for witches to be snatching, isn't it?" She said, abruptly pulling him out of his thoughts. "I mean, _sure_ , they'll eat just about  _anything_ , but usually they only  _kidnap_  younger kids. And supposedly, both of these kids just vanished into thin air,” She added, making a ‘poof’ motion with her hands. “ Nobody heard anything, nobody seen anything... Last place anybody remembers seeing them was in the center of town, few hours before dark. Then they were just gone."

"So... You're thinking maybe runaways?" He asked, ignoring her grimace as pieces of biscuit flew out of his mouth.

"Well... Normally, I'd say yeah. But..." She frowned down at the papers again, grimacing as if they'd offended her. She was silent for a few minutes, obviously lost in her thoughts. Hansel rolled his eyes, throwing a piece of his biscuit at her head.

"C'mon, spit it out, sis. I'd like to get started, and get paid sometime soon. I hate this fuckin’ town. Why do we always end up here? Stupid ass town with its stupid ass witches…"

She glared at him, before returning her gaze to the papers in front of her, silent for a a handful of seconds, before she sighed. "I'm not sure. Just… Something’s wrong, Hansel. It doesn’t add up. I mean… Yes, the timing's right – we're pretty close to the fall equinox – and there's been signs of a witch in the forest... They say there's a grove, where nothing grows. That everything inside the circle is dead, and rotting. The old woman who runs the herb shop said it's been like that for almost thirty years now. But… I just feel like there’s something else. Something that we’re not seeing. Something that doesn’t add up."

"How many other kids go missing?"

"Could you please  _eat_  your food, instead of spitting it back at me?" She asked sarcastically, and he gave her a wide, toothy grin, showcasing the latest unchewed bits of biscuit on his teeth. She groaned, before shaking her head, and getting back to business. "That's where it gets strange again. Only eleven. Thirty years, and these two put the number up at thirteen."

He shrugged as he stood, and grabbed his pack, rummaging through it for the apple he'd bought at the market the previous day. "Thirteen _is_ the witch's lucky number."

"Yeah, but this is the first girl. And why spread out so far? Thirteen over thirty _years_? That's a little more than one every three years. That’s not nearly enough for eating, and I don’t know any spell that would take thirty years to brew."

He actually paused for a moment, thinking as he took a few bites from the apple, his brow furrowing in concentration.

Gretel was right. While a lot of stuff added up to ‘witch’ on the surface, there were too many loopholes. Too many things that didn’t fit.

 

* * *

 

Gretel barely managed to keep the smile from forming on her lips as she studiously watched her older brother munch on his fruit.

While Hansel did his best to portray himself as nothing more than a brutish scoundrel, he was far from the dumb, thick lug-head he constantly tried to pass himself off as. That much was evident as he stared at the ceiling, eyebrows drawn together, the slight downturn of his lip, and the absently tapping foot. This was his ‘thinking’ face as she called it.

Because her brother never just ‘asked’ questions. While most people would just throw out whatever stupid shit came to mind, Hansel always knew exactly what he was going to ask who, and what answers he wanted –or expected –to get. He always knew exactly what information was needed, and what information was useless, pinpointing the useful and discarding the bullshit quicker than most people could comprehend.

 “What do you have on the other eleven? There's gotta be some sort of pattern, other than 'boys'. Same age group, same look, go missing from the same area? Find the pattern, maybe we can figure out why they broke the pattern grabbing the girl,” He finally said, as he began loading all of his assorted weapons into their various sheathes, holsters, or pockets. “The girl’s the key; the break in the cycle. Ask around for a few hours, see what we can come up with on her, then we'll go check out that damn circle.”

Gretel nodded as she began holstering her weapons. “Alright. I talked to an herbalist this morning; she’s lived here forty years, seems to know most of what goes on. Probably as good a place to start as any.”

 

* * *

 

Nothing quite set Hansel’s teeth on edge like markets. Witches, vampires, trolls, goblins… He’d deal with those any day of the week. Hell, he’d deal with all of ‘em on the same damn day if it meant he could avoid markets.

There was just too many people. Too many shoving, yelling people crowding into his space –and that was on the _good_ days when nobody recognize him or Gretel.

Although she didn’t seem to have a problem with it, he thought irritably, forcefully shoving a too-eager merchant – _trying to sell him fucking jewelry of all things_ –away from him, ignoring the man’s squawk of indignation. The sea of people just seemed to flow around his sister, coming close , but never _actually_ touching her as she strode through the busy streets, smiling at everyone and everything.

“Where the hell are we going?” He finally snapped, shoving a handful of women away from him as he forced his way to her side.

“Just a little further,” She said loudly, her brown eyes twinkling merrily as she gave him a grin, and he just barely resisted the urge to swat the back of her head. She knew how uncomfortable he was in large crowds. Knew how it set his teeth on edge, and riled up his temper.

Knew… and Hansel was pretty sure she got a kick out of watching him try to control said temper. It amused her to watch him try and restrain himself from lashing out at the people who invaded his personal space.

With that thought, he did clip her upside the back of the head, giving her a large grin of his own when she glared at him.

“Very mature,” She muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Older brother,” He shot back, but his eyes had latched onto the three men standing at a booth, their eyes drifting up and down his sister's body. “How much further?”

“A few more stalls. What's wrong?” She asked quietly, stepping closer to him, picking up on his sudden shift in mood, the irritation gone from his voice, a dangerous edge replacing it.

“You've got admirers,” He grunted, pushing her forward, his hand resting on the small of her back, hoping the possessive gesture would be enough to discourage the men from trying anything stupid, as he openly glared at them.

“Relax,” She said carelessly, in that way that he absolutely hated. “They're just looking. You know, if I treated every girl who looked at you the same way you treat men who look at me, we'd never get _anything_ done.”

He shrugged again, his eyes still watching the men – who'd wisely decided to do nothing more than look – as he repeated, “Older brother.”

“That's your excuse for everything. Here we go. Try and play nice.”

He forced a grin to his face as he followed her inside the dark building. “I'm always nice.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hansel frowned, following Gretel through the small, dark hallway, a familiar scent tickling the end of his nose, but one that he was unable to place. A smell that he _knew_ he knew, one that had the hair on the back of his neck rising, although he couldn’t figure out why.

“Hello?” Gretel called, shoving aside a blanket that functioned as a door. “Marta? It's Gretel.” She cast a worried look at Hansel, who could only shrug as they moved further down the hallway. “Marta?”

As soon as Hansel stepped into the room, instinct had him grabbing at his firearm with one hand, the other one roughly shoving Gretel behind him. While he couldn’t make out that stupid, _irritating_ scent, another, all too familiar scent had him slipping into battle mode without a thought.

The room they stood in had probably been beautiful once; even his untrained eye could recognize the ornate carvings on the ceiling lattice, and the rugs were obviously from Far East. He couldn’t quite make out the pattern on them though…

The large puddles of blood, and torn paper –the room must have held at least a hundred books to explain the amount of torn paper everywhere –made it kind of hard to pick out the pattern. Blood speckled the walls, and ceiling, even the shelves tjat lay broken in pieces across the floor had blood spots, while glass which had once held what Hansel assumed to be Healer's Herbs was littered among the debris.

Almost idly, his subconscious informed him that the smell –the one he knew he knew –wasn’t coming from the herbs.

_Oh, and neither was the metallic scent._

“Watch the door,” He said gruffly, moving towards the counter, dread building in the pit of his stomach as he leaned over, bracing himself for what lay behind it.

He’d seen a lot of nasty shit in his day. Witches tended to die spraying bodily fluids in every fucking direction, even if you did set them on fire. He’d once had to chop a werewolf apart –piece by piece, limb by limb –to get the fucker to stop trying to eat him.

But the shopkeep… He grimaced, stomach churning a bit, as he took in the spot where her skull had once been -at least, he assumed it was a she. There wasn't really enough to accurately say. There was matted gray clumps stuck to the counter, the floor, and the wall behind the counter, leading him to believe she’d probably been an older lady before someone had bashed her skull in –repeatedly. But something had also sliced her open, from throat to belly, and trailed her insides around the body.

“Oh my God.”

He ignored Gretel. Something… Something wasn’t right.

Well, aside from the obvious, that is.

Something –someone –had carefully arranged her ropey inside bits around the body. This wasn’t the random killing of a hungry animal –supernatural or otherwise. Glancing at the edges of the cut to her chest confirmed his suspicions –whoever had sliced her open had used good old fashioned steel to cut through the flesh.

Wasn’t a lot of things other than humans who did that.

He shook his head. It was overkill. The blow to the head would have been fatal all on its own; slicing her chest apart had either been some sort of warning message, or from somebody who simply enjoyed a bloodbath.

He wasn't sure which option was more disturbing. If it was somebody who just enjoyed killing, they would kill again, bloodier, with the body count only rising the longer the person went uncaught. He'd heard of a few men like that, although he hadn't personally come across 'spree killers' as he'd heard them called. But from what he'd heard, they were harder to kill than witches, since there were none of the obvious warning signs… Until they tried slicing your head off or chewing on your jugular.

But if it wasn't a crazy psycho running loose... That meant that the body was supposed to be a message. But to who? And just what the fuck kind of message was it supposed to be?

 “Gretel?”

“Yeah?” His sister asked quietly.

“When did you talk to her?”

“A few hours ago... Not too long after dawn. Why?”

“Her body's already started to cool. She's been dead at least a few hours,” He said darkly, his mind not liking that particular implication at all. What were the odds of a _random_ spree killer _randomly_ killing the one woman in the damn town that Gretel had _randomly_ talked to? The one woman who seemed like she might have had information? Probably within minutes –definitely no more than an hour –of Gretel talking to her?

He stared at the arranged organs again, trying to find a pattern. Trying to find an answer, even a fucking hint.

_What the fuck was the message?_

_Who was trying to tell who what?_

_Why the healer? Because she was a healer, or because Gretel had talked to her?_

_Why the overkill?_

_There had to be a pattern in the organs… There had to be something…_

“Hansel?”

“We need to go,” He said quickly, picking up his gun, and moving back towards the door. “Now.”

“But Marta –“

“Is nothing to you, and could get us killed. Move!” He barked gruffly, shoving her though another archway, and towards the back door.

In his rush to get Gretel out – _it could have been a trap, to either kill or arrest them, why the hell had he stayed with the damn body so long_ –he never stopped to consider it.

How the hell did he know where the back door was? How did he know there _was_ a back door to begin with?

And why was that stupid scent –like a mixture of dirt, spice, and sweet covering the body, and the area behind the counter–sending waves of panic through him?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I figured the timeline on this story as a year or two prior to the events of the movie. Just an FYI.

“Hansel, what the hell is going on?” Gretel demanded, staring over the table at her brother. After dragging them out of Marta’s –without even covering the dead woman for dignity –he’d booked it back to the inn, where he’d sat brooding over a pint of beer that lay untouched. Every so often, he’d pick it up, and raise it to his lips like he was going to drink, before setting it back down without doing so. He hadn’t said a word in over two hours, just lifting the cup up and setting it down, his eyes a million miles away as he stared at her, without seeing her.

“Hansel!”

“What?” He finally grunted, shaking his head a bit, his eyes refocusing as he glared at her.

“What the hell is going on?” She repeated angrily. “What was that back there? And what the fuck has you so goddamn spooked all of the sudden?”

“I’m not spooked.”

She raised one eyebrow at his sharp, biting tone, and he rolled his eyes. “What? Just because I didn’t want to hang around to get arrested for a crime we didn’t do, doesn’t mean I’m spooked, alright?”

“Hansel –“

“Leave. It. Alone.”

Gretel sat back in her chair, her fingers going up to tug at her braid, a left-over tic from her childhood when she got nervous. Hansel hadn’t taken that tone with her since before they’d signed on with Diego Hernandez when they were kids.

_“Hansel, what happened?!” Gretel cried, running to the door of their little hut in terror._

_Hansel grunted, not fighting her as she slung his arm over her shoulder, instead merely leaning on her roughly. “Nothing. M’fine.”_

_“You’re not fine! It looks like someone broke your face!” She squeaked, hating the crack in her voice. “Someone beat you up!”_

_In the light of the candles, she could better see how injured he really was. He limped heavily, favoring his left leg, and the fingers on the hand she had wrapped around her shoulder were bent and crooked. His face was already covered in a motley coloring of reds and blues, his nose bent and bleeding, his lip split jaggedly down the middle, with blood coloring his gritted teeth. His breath came in wheezing gasps._

_She’d seen her brother bruised and cut before; he constantly told her that working hard labor was dangerous work, and there was always a risk of being hurt. But he’d never looked that bad. Even at eleven, she knew there was no way this had been something that happened on the job._

_“Hansel, please,” She begged, helping him onto the small bed of hay they shared that was their mattress. “What happened?”_

_“Said… I’m fine,” He grunted again, leaning back slowly, and settling himself onto the bed. But she heard the whimper as his head came to rest._

_“Sit up!” She ordered immediately, grabbing hold of his arm and trying to pull back up._

_But Hansel’s scream of pain stopped her in her tracks._

_“Hansel… Hansel, I don’t know how to fix this,” She cried, fluttering around the bed uselessly. “What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”_

_He cracked open one eye. “Nothing. Said m’fine. Stop worrying,” He wheezed, closing his eye again._

_“But, Hansel –“_

_“I. Said. I’m. Fine.”_

“So what then?” She asked, careful to keep her voice neutral. “Are we going to hunt this witch, or are we bailing?”

“I don’t think it is a witch.”

Gretel leaned back in her chair, folding her hands behind her head. “What do you mean ‘it’s not a witch’? What the fuck else could it be?” She asked in surprise. Sure, they'd had the occasional werewolf, a troll here or there -even had a vampire once. But none of those would wander into a town without being noticed, in the middle of the morning.

Hansel sighed, picking up his beer again, but this time, draining the entire thing in one long mouthful, before raising his head to look at her. “Gretel, whatever… whatever killed Marta? It wasn’t what we hunt. It was something human. Someone bashed her brains in with something, and then sliced her open, before playing with her insides.”

“Who the hell would do that? That’s not a human thing,” She insisted stubbornly.

Hansel scoffed, and for the briefest moment, she could have sworn she seen contempt in her brother’s eyes, before that world-weary look returned. “Gretel… I love you more than life. I’d do anything for you. Christ only knows what I've done to keep you safe. But, God… You really are _stupidly_ naïve.”

She drew back sharply, his words cutting her to the quick. “I… What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” She demanded, blinking back tears. Her brother’s harsh words shouldn’t have hurt her that much –she knew that, logically, she did –but it was such a rare occurrence that she couldn’t help it.

Hansel sighed, leaning back in his own chair, head hanging back as he stared up at the ceiling for a moment.

“It means, dear sister… That people can be a hell of a lot worse, and a hell of a lot more _evil_ than the supernatural.

“You want to think the best of everybody. That people are mostly good, with a few bad apples in the bunch. But let me tell you something, Gretel: there are people –everywhere, but especially in this fucking town –who would slice your throat for a copper penny. People who would fuck you every way possible, before leaving you bleeding in an alley. People who would rob you of every fucking thing you have, before leaving you in a ditch to die. Men who fuck little kids bloody, beating the every loving piss out of them, because that’s how they fucking get off. Men who beat defenseless, little old ladies to death and fucking enjoy every second of it.

“ 'Cause _that’s_ what people really are, Gretel. We’re mean, savage fucking animals who hurt each other just because we fucking can. And you… You just _refuse_ to fucking see it.”

At his words, Gretel couldn’t keep the tears in anymore, unable to stop them from spilling down her face as she stood angrily, stomping off towards their rooms.


End file.
